Chapter Text
Dazai saw her before Chuuya did.
Asami stepped out from the side of the corridor, her phone no longer raised, her grin replaced by something softer — almost fragile. For an instant her expression looked like sorrow, like she was the one cornered.
Dazai’s breath snagged in his throat. His heart thudded once, hard, and then seemed to pause.
He slowed without realizing, his eyes locked on hers. That faintly trembling lower lip, that tiny crease between her brows… it was the face of someone frightened. Someone wronged.
No.
No, he thought, already wanting to turn around, to vanish back into the safety of his room.
“Let’s go back,” he muttered under his breath, tugging at Chuuya’s sleeve. “I don’t want to be here.”
Chuuya looked at him in surprise. There was a flicker of worry in those blue eyes, but then his gaze shifted back to Asami.
“I want to hear what she has to say,” Chuuya said, starting forward.
Dazai’s fingers tightened around Chuuya’s arm, stopping him. He met Chuuya’s gaze, and for the first time Chuuya saw something raw in his eyes — not annoyance, not laziness, but something closer to panic.
“Please. Let’s go to my room.”
Chuuya’s brows furrowed, his mouth parting slightly as if to question him, but he saw enough in Dazai’s face to nod. He was about to steer them away when—
A sharp scream ripped down the corridor.
“Don’t come closer!”
Heads turned. Phones tilted up, cameras flashing.
Dazai froze, his whole body jolting at the sound.
Asami’s voice rose again, breaking as if she were sobbing.
“Stay away from me! Don’t— don’t let him near me!”
The air in the hall shifted; murmurs spread. Chuuya stiffened beside him, frowning deeply. Dazai’s gut sank like a stone.
And then Asami shouted:
“Dazai… he—he raped me!”
The world stopped.
A hollow roar filled Dazai’s ears, drowning out the rising voices of the crowd. His lungs wouldn’t pull in air; it felt like his ribs were locked. His eyes widened, his mouth parted slightly as if to speak, but no sound came out.
All he could see was her — crouched in the middle of the hallway, shoulders shaking as if in tears, and all he could hear was the rush of blood in his ears.
The hallway seemed to tilt.
Chuuya’s voice reached him, muffled and distant, calling his name.
A hand gripped his arm, steady and strong, trying to guide him away. He didn’t react; his eyes stayed fixed on nothing, like a puppet with cut strings.
Someone else called to him — a man’s voice? A woman’s? He couldn’t tell.
The stares of the people around them pressed in on him, a weight that made his skin crawl. His stomach lurched.
Then suddenly he jerked, his hand flying to cover his mouth, and doubled over.
He vomited right there on the polished floor.
Chuuya was instantly there, kneeling beside him, one hand rubbing circles between his shoulder blades, the other shielding him slightly from the crowd’s intrusive eyes and flashing phones.
Dazai stayed bent over, gasping, trembling, the taste of bile in his throat.
For a moment there was nothing else — no accusations, no noise, just the sound of Chuuya’s low voice trying to reach him and the rough feel of a warm hand at his back, anchoring him while the rest of the world spun.
Aizawa strode down the hallway, his steps heavy but quick.
The security office door was half-closed; he rapped on it twice.
The door swung open to reveal the night-shift guard, who looked like he hadn’t slept in two days. When he saw Aizawa standing there, his posture straightened immediately.
“Uh— Eraserhead, sir. What… what do you need?”
“I need to see the security feed from room A-5158. This morning.”
His voice was low but carried an edge that made the guard nod quickly and step aside.
Aizawa entered, his tired eyes scanning the rows of monitors until he found the one that showed the familiar hospital room.
“Rewind,” he ordered.
The guard obeyed, the footage skimming backwards in a blur of light and shadow.
“Stop. Now go forward slowly.”
The guard tapped the controls, slowing the playback until Aizawa’s sharp eyes caught a flicker of movement.
“There. Stop. Back a few seconds. Play it frame by frame.”
The shape of someone slipping into the room came into view — just a brief outline at the edge of the frame.
Aizawa leaned in, squinting.
Definitely a student. But the camera angle was bad. Whoever it was had deliberately kept their face away from the lens.
“Go back. Forward again. Slower,” he said.
The guard tried a few different passes, but no luck. The person always stayed half in shadow, half out of sight.
Aizawa exhaled through his nose, frustration flickering in his eyes.
“Alright. Thanks,” he muttered, turning to leave.
Out in the corridor, he nearly collided with Present Mic, who was jogging toward him. Aizawa took a step back, frowning.
“What’s going on?”
“Shouta! There’s chaos in the hallway— students are crowding around, shouting. I can’t find Dazai or Chuuya.”
Aizawa’s stomach tightened.
“Great,” he muttered. “We’re supposed to be guarding them.”
He started walking quickly beside Present Mic, his scarf swishing at his side.
“Why is there a crowd?”
“I don’t know. Something happened— shouting, screaming. But we need to get to them fast.”
As they ran, Aizawa’s thoughts churned.
Someone had been in that hospital room. Someone had switched off the heart monitor.
He’d seen enough of Dazai to know the boy hated to be touched, hated to be fussed over. But the way he’d recoiled earlier, the way he’d almost come apart at the seams… that was something deeper.
His jaw tightened.
He didn’t want to think about what might have been done to the boy.
Dazai Osamu was a mystery. So was Nakahara Chuuya. And Mori Ōgai. Nezu knew more than he let on.
Aizawa clenched his fists.
It had been his responsibility to keep the students safe. He should have been there.
A glimpse of Dazai reaching out in the throes of a panic attack, calling for his mother like a lost child, flashed in his mind. It made his chest ache in a way he didn’t like.
“Shouta!” Present Mic’s shout pulled him back. “I found them!”
Aizawa lengthened his stride, skidding slightly as they rounded a corner.
His eyes took in the scene at once: vomit on the polished floor. Dazai hunched over, pale and hollow-eyed. Chuuya crouched beside him like a guard dog, shoulders squared, glaring at them.
The redhead’s gaze snapped up at them, sharp and warning.
“Stay back!”
Aizawa slowed his approach. He could see that Dazai’s mouth had been hastily wiped clean, but the boy was frozen, eyes wide and distant, as if staring through the floor.
Chuuya shifted, ready to push Aizawa away if he got too close.
Then, without warning, Dazai’s gaze flicked up. His chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths— and then he lurched forward, straight into Aizawa.
Aizawa froze for a heartbeat as the boy clutched at him, burying his face against his chest. The brown hair was damp with sweat, the grip surprisingly tight.
He heard Chuuya’s sharp intake of breath.
Present Mic stood wide-eyed, stunned into silence.
Aizawa swallowed down the lump rising in his throat and lowered his arms, carefully, slowly, as if he were handling something fragile, until they rested around Dazai in a loose, reassuring hold.
He said nothing— only stayed still, letting the boy cling to him without a single word of reproach.
Aizawa looked at Chuuya over Dazai’s head, his brows knitting into a deep frown.
“What happened?” he asked, his voice low but firm.
Chuuya’s expression was a strange mix — anger simmering beneath the surface, but his eyes never leaving Dazai. He crouched slightly to meet the boy’s distant gaze, though Dazai stayed pressed against Aizawa’s chest.
“I… I don’t know,” Chuuya said at last, his voice tight. But Aizawa could see it in the way his jaw clenched, in the way his shoulders stiffened: the boy knew more than he was willing to say.
Before Aizawa could push, Present Mic stepped a little closer, trying to help. The slight shuffle of his boot on the floor and the faint squeak of his jacket were enough to make Dazai flinch violently. His shoulders jerked; his breath hitched.
Aizawa’s eyes flicked sharply toward Present Mic.
“Back off,” he muttered.
Mic raised both hands in a small gesture of apology and stepped away, clearly rattled.
“Chuuya,” Dazai’s voice came then, soft and cracked, almost like a plea.
Chuuya moved immediately, kneeling closer so that Dazai could see him. His presence seemed to steady Dazai a little, even if only barely.
Aizawa turned his head toward Present Mic.
“Get someone to clean this up,” he said, nodding toward the mess on the floor.
“Got it,” Present Mic replied quickly and left at a near run, disappearing around the corner.
Aizawa shifted his hold, then stood up, lifting Dazai as if he weighed almost nothing. Dazai didn’t resist — just hid his face in Aizawa’s chest, his arms dangling weakly at his sides. His whole body felt too light, too limp.
Chuuya moved in beside them as they started down the hallway, his eyes scanning the corridor, his posture protective, as if daring anyone to come too close.
“We shouldn’t go near our room,” he said suddenly, his voice low.
Aizawa shot him a look but didn’t argue..strange.
“We’ll use my room. Some of us still have quarters here because of the recent attacks.”
Chuuya nodded once, tight-lipped.
The walk was quiet except for the soft shuffle of footsteps. Aizawa kept his hold on Dazai firm but careful, while Chuuya’s eyes kept sweeping the hallway as though expecting someone to jump out at them.
They reached the teachers’ dorm wing soon enough. Aizawa shifted Dazai in one arm to unlock his door, then pushed it open with his foot. The room was sparse, functional — a bed in the corner, a couch, a low table.
He lowered Dazai onto the couch gently. Dazai sat where he was placed, shoulders hunched, his eyes fixed on nothing, his breathing shallow but steady.
Chuuya immediately crouched down in front of him, leaning in as if to pull him back from wherever his thoughts had gone.
“Hey… I’m right here,” Chuuya murmured.
Dazai didn’t respond, but he didn’t pull away when Chuuya reached out and wrapped his fingers around his hand. A faint shift in his posture, the tiniest ease in his shoulders, betrayed the comfort the contact gave him.
Aizawa stood a little off to the side, his hands in his pockets, watching. For a fleeting moment, something like a sigh brushed his chest — young love, he thought grimly. Strange how it sometimes grounded people better than anything else.
“Dazai,” Aizawa said after a while, his tone quiet but even. “You should take a shower. It might help.”
Chuuya nodded in agreement without looking back.
“He just needs time,” he said, his voice softer now, more protective.
Aizawa hummed in response. His eyes shifted to Chuuya.
“Can I talk to you for a minute?”
Chuuya’s brows furrowed. He glanced at Dazai, then at Aizawa, and then back to Dazai again. His hesitation was obvious.
Finally, he squeezed Dazai’s hand lightly and let go.
The moment Chuuya’s fingers slipped away, Dazai’s head turned sharply, his eyes finding Chuuya’s face with a sudden, raw alertness. His lips parted as if to speak, but no words came. Instead, after a moment’s struggle, he only nodded faintly.
Chuuya forced a small, reassuring smile.
“I’ll be right next door.”
Dazai’s mouth moved as if to argue but then closed again, the nod he gave this time smaller, almost imperceptible.
Chuuya rose to his feet, his expression tightening as he looked once more at Aizawa. Together they stepped out of the livingroom and into aizaws bedroom, leaving the door cracked slightly behind them.
Aizawa shut the door to the adjoining room behind them and leaned his shoulder against the wall. His tired eyes fixed on Chuuya.
“I checked the cameras,” he said quietly. “Someone was in that hospital room.”
Chuuya’s head jerked up, his whole expression shifting—eyes widening, shoulders tensing. The air around him seemed to change, his fists curling at his sides as if he was ready to tear the door off its hinges.
Before Chuuya could say or do anything reckless, Aizawa’s hair drifted upward, his quirk snapping into play. The faint red glow in Chuuya’s eyes dulled, his ability being dampened enough to keep him in check.
“Don’t,” Aizawa said firmly. “Not yet.”
Chuuya ground his teeth, his fingers flexing, a soft, low growl slipping out.
“Did you see their face?”
Aizawa shook his head slowly.
“No. Whoever it was stayed out of sight of the cameras.”
Chuuya’s frown deepened.
“Could you at least tell if it was a girl or a boy?”
Again, Aizawa shook his head.
“They kept their profile turned away. They were careful.”
“Tch.” Chuuya looked away, jaw tight, his fists clenching so hard his knuckles whitened.
Silence stretched between them for a moment. Aizawa just watched him—watched the frustration, the barely leashed violence simmering beneath the boy’s skin. Chuuya’s eyes slid to the floor as though he was thinking hard, trying to piece something together.
The stillness was broken by faint sounds coming from the living room — muffled voices, distant but recognizable as coming from a phone.
Chuuya’s head snapped toward the noise, a confused frown crossing his face. Aizawa’s brow creased; no one else should’ve been able to get into his quarters.
They stepped out of the room together.
What they found was Dazai sitting on the couch, hunched slightly forward, staring down at his phone. The bluish light lit his face, washing out what little color he had.
Chuuya moved faster, his steps quickening as he got close enough to hear the audio playing from the device. A voice, high and shaking, rang out:
“Don’t come closer!”
Then the same voice, cracking with what sounded like fear:
“Dazai… he raped me!”
Aizawa’s frown deepened at once. The words echoed in the otherwise quiet room, heavy and wrong.
Chuuya strode forward, snatched the phone out of Dazai’s hand, and thumbed the screen dark in one sharp motion.
Dazai blinked, his gaze finally focusing, almost as if waking up. His lips twisted into a thin, shaky mockery of a smile.
“Hey… what’s your problem?” His voice was rough, faintly hoarse, but laced with that brittle, mocking edge he often used when cornered.
“You shouldn’t be watching that,” Chuuya shot back immediately, his tone sharper than he’d intended.
Dazai groaned loudly, dragging a hand down his face.
“I just wanted to see the comments.”
Chuuya shook his head, his expression hardening.
“You’d better not.”
Aizawa stood where he was for a moment, taking in the scene—Chuuya tense, Dazai visibly unwell but still trying to act unfazed. None of it sat right.
He took a step closer.
“What’s going on?”
Dazai’s eyes flicked up to meet his, and for the briefest instant, something raw flickered there—gone before Aizawa could read it. Dazai’s voice came slow and flat.
“Just… a movie I watched.”
Chuuya’s head whipped toward him, his expression clearly annoyed by the blatant lie. Aizawa didn’t buy it either.
Without a word, he pulled out his own phone, opened a social media app, and began scrolling. It didn’t take long before he found what he was looking for — a trending video thumbnail. He tapped it.
The footage started playing. A young girl he recognized vaguely from seeing her around campus—he dug for the name—Asami.
In the video she looked frightened, cornered. And in the frame infront of her, Dazai and Chuuya stood there, both frozen, both looking as if the ground had just disappeared beneath them.
Then came the scream:
“Don’t come closer!”
Followed by:
“Dazai… he raped me!”
Aizawa’s frown deepened further. The words were explosive — but the look on Dazai’s face in the video struck him harder. There was no anger there, no defiance. Just a hollowed-out, shocked expression… almost as if he had been somewhere else entirely.
Chuuya’s voice cut through his thoughts, sharp and bitter.
“She’s making this up. Asami—she’s spouting bullshit.”
Aizawa looked up from his phone at Chuuya, then back at Dazai. The boy had turned his face away, his gaze fixed on the floor as if refusing to meet anyone’s eyes.
That reaction… that wasn’t just from a false accusation. Aizawa didn’t know Dazai’s full history, but he knew enough — the scars, the way he recoiled from certain touches, the panic attack earlier.
Something deeper was buried there, and it made his chest tighten.
Chuuya stood by, visibly furious, his hands clenched at his sides.
Aizawa exhaled slowly, forcing his own thoughts back into order.
“I’ll speak to the principal directly,” he said at last, his voice quiet but edged with steel.
Chuuya nodded, humming in agreement, though his expression stayed hard and unsatisfied. It was clear the redhead wanted more than just a conversation — but for now, he held it in.
Aizawa let his gaze slide once more to Dazai, whose eyes remained fixed on nothing, unreadable again.
Dazai stepped into the bathroom and let the door fall shut behind him.
The click was soft, almost too soft for the weight in his chest.
He had said it — in front of Aizawa, in front of Chuuya.
The words were out.
And the way Aizawa had looked at him… that quiet, heavy pity.
He hated it.
And Chuuya — Chuuya had been angry and worried and had that same pity in his eyes.
A disaster. A disgrace.
Dazai pressed his palm against the cool tiled wall, letting his head hang forward for a breath.
He didn’t understand why his body had reacted like that out there.
It wasn’t the first time.
He had survived worse and stayed composed.
But the moment Asami had screamed those words, everything inside him had folded in on itself, as if the years of carefully built walls had cracked all at once.
His feelings for Chuuya made it worse.
Made him weak.
Made him feel like a human.
He wasn’t supposed to be human.
When he finally lifted his head, he almost flinched.
For a heartbeat he saw his father’s face — the same cold, furious look he used to give Dazai whenever he “felt too much.”
Too happy. Too sad.
Not that there had ever been much happiness.
Just those fleeting, almost unreal moments.
Ephemeral.
Dazai shut his eyes to make the phantom vanish.
When he opened them again, he saw the real figure — Chuuya — coming closer, his expression guarded, voice low.
“You need help?”
Dazai exhaled and tilted his head back slightly.
“Don’t baby me over something this stupid.”
Chuuya’s jaw clenched.
“Something? This isn’t just something. This is a big damn deal.”
Dazai gave a slow, weary shrug.
“What’s done is done. I can’t change it.”
He looked at Chuuya then — really looked at him, the way you look at someone you’ve fought beside for years.
“Asami saw her chance. I couldn’t move, couldn’t scream. She took it. I can’t change that fact.”
His eyes softened for the briefest moment, then hardened again.
“She’s using the accusation now. Trying to make the hero world spit me out. We both know who she’s working for. Shigaraki. So let her play her stupid game.”
Chuuya’s shoulders bunched up, anger tightening his voice.
“Stop being so damn logical and start acting like a human being for once!”
“I’m not human,” Dazai said almost instantly, as if it were a reflex.
Chuuya’s teeth ground together, his voice low but fierce.
“Then neither am I.”
That caught Dazai off guard. He blinked at him.
Chuuya didn’t give him the chance to speak.
“You have a damn heart. Cold, maybe empty, but it’s there. You just don’t let yourself feel anything but that void. You need something — someone — to live for. Something that isn’t the Port Mafia, that isn’t… all this.”
Dazai’s lips curved faintly, but there was no mirth in it.
“Every good thing is lost the moment I reach for it.”
Chuuya’s voice snapped like a whip.
“If you keep thinking that, then that’s exactly how it’ll be.”
Dazai said nothing.
He just looked at Chuuya, biting the inside of his cheek.
In truth, he sometimes thought Chuuya was the reason to keep breathing — but that was something Chuuya would never understand.
Chuuya let out a long breath, shoulders slumping a little as he turned on the water for the bath.
“You’re so damn smart it makes you stupid,” he muttered.
Dazai’s brows drew together at that.
Chuuya kept his back to him as he added,
“Start focusing on what you feel. Your feelings are valid. All of them. Even the ones you think you shouldn’t have.”
Then he turned halfway, arms folding across his chest, gaze sliding toward him.
“Undress.”
Dazai tilted his head and said dryly,
“I can’t really bend much right now. You’ll have to help with the pants… and a bit with the shirt.”
Chuuya nodded once and stepped closer, his movements careful, deliberate.
He lifted his chin slightly toward the hem of Dazai’s shirt, his voice quieter.
“Can I take it off?”
Dazai hummed and gave a small nod.
For a moment, they just looked at each other — Dazai with that unreadable, tired gaze, Chuuya steady and unflinching.
Somewhere in that silence, Dazai caught himself thinking, as he often did, that he could never understand how Chuuya could call himself inhuman when he stood there breathing, solid and alive, looking — even in his frustration — like something untouchably real.
The alarm buzzed shrilly, dragging Dazai out of an unsteady but not entirely miserable sleep.
He groaned and shifted, the couch creaking under him.
For once, he’d managed to drift in and out without spending hours staring into the dark.
It wasn’t good sleep — it never really was — but it was better than the nights when he simply couldn’t close his eyes again after waking.
He turned his head to the side.
Chuuya was curled against him, clinging in his sleep as though the night had been too long and too cold.
The smaller boy’s breathing was slow, deep, his hair a soft mess of red strands against Dazai’s shirt.
The alarm didn’t even seem to stir him.
Dazai’s expression softened almost in spite of himself.
He raised a hand and brushed the back of his fingers lightly against Chuuya’s cheek.
The touch was gentle, absentminded.
The face that was usually fierce and scowling looked almost serene like this.
A door opened somewhere behind them.
Soft footsteps, the faint creak of the hinge.
Aizawa’s voice — rough from early morning — called their names.
“Dazai. Chuuya. Up.”
Chuuya groaned and buried his face further against Dazai’s side.
Dazai huffed a little laugh and patted the top of his head.
Aizawa came to stand in front of the couch, arms folded as he looked down at the tangle of limbs.
He leaned forward slightly and gave Chuuya’s shoulder a small shake.
Chuuya grumbled low in his throat, still half-asleep.
Dazai shifted and said lazily, “Oi, chibi… wakey wakey"
That got a whine out of Chuuya, who finally cracked open an eye, then sat up slowly, stretching with a groggy yawn.
His hair stuck up in uneven tufts, his expression bleary — but there was something almost disarmingly cute about it.
Aizawa shook his head and sighed.
“Come on. Hurry up so we can all get to class together.”
Dazai’s lips quirked.
“Ohh, look at that. Not just my homeroom teacher, but also my bodyguard.”
Aizawa’s eyes narrowed just slightly.
“I’m neither. I’m just the one who has to keep an eye on you two.”
“That makes you a bodyguard,” Dazai said airily, waving one hand.
“Caretaker,” Aizawa muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Guardian at best.”
“Same thing,” Dazai replied with a shrug and sat up, stretching his long arms above his head.
Aizawa muttered something under his breath about coffee and headed for the small kitchenette.
Chuuya grumbled something about wanting the couch space and told Dazai to move.
Dazai, sprawled out, only half-smiled.
“You’ll have to climb over me.”
Chuuya shot him a tired glare but didn’t argue.
He simply climbed over Dazai with minimal fuss and made his way to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.
It was a good twenty minutes before he came out, looking more awake, his hair damp where he’d splashed his face.
“Alright, I’m ready,” Chuuya said, pulling at the collar of his uniform.
Dazai nodded.
“Then I’ll just use the toilet and we can go.”
“Brush your teeth,” Chuuya replied flatly.
Dazai blinked.
“I don’t have a toothbrush.”
“Then use your finger,” Chuuya shot back. “Your morning breath is disgusting.”
Dazai let out a lazy shrug, standing up.
“Such cruel honesty this early in the morning.”
He disappeared into the bathroom.
Leaning over the sink, he followed Chuuya’s advice, brushing as best he could with toothpaste and his finger, then rinsed his mouth.
He lingered for a moment, eyes meeting his reflection in the mirror.
The dark half-moons under his eyes were still there but less heavy than usual.
He leaned closer, tracing the familiar lines of his own face.
There were things of his mother in the shape of his eyes and the curve of his cheekbones.
People used to say he was a mama’s boy.
Yet there were hints of his father there too, and he hated that more than anything.
He sighed and reached for the door, opening it a little — only to freeze.
“Shuuji…”
A soft voice.
Familiar.
He turned his head slowly.
There, just behind him in the dim bathroom, stood the faint image of his mother — her voice soft, almost tender.
“Shuuji… my young boy, im so sorry.”
His throat tightened.
He swallowed hard and turned back toward the door, pushing it open further as if the hallway itself could pull him out of that moment.
Out in the small living space, Aizawa was already standing by the door, dressed and ready, calling over his shoulder for them to hurry.
Chuuya was crouched down, lacing his boots.
Dazai stepped out quietly, not looking back, slipping on his own shoes as he joined them.
The three of them stepped into the hallway together, the morning cool and still carrying a weight that hadn’t yet burned off.
They walked the hallways together — Dazai in the middle, Chuuya a half-step to his left, Aizawa on his right.
The morning buzz of students usually sounded like harmless noise, but today it felt sharp.
He could feel the weight of eyes on him: some wide and curious, some narrowed in suspicion, others carrying something almost like sympathy.
A few of the older students standing by their lockers whispered behind their hands.
Others simply stared.
A group near the end of the corridor didn’t even bother to lower their voices, their eyes flicking toward Dazai as if to confirm the rumours.
Chuuya’s jaw flexed as he caught the looks.
Once, a tall boy in the crowd muttered something under his breath, and Chuuya turned his head sharply, eyes narrowing.
“The hell you staring at?” he snarled.
The boy looked away fast.
A couple of his friends laughed nervously and scattered.
Dazai sighed quietly.
He didn’t care what opinions they carried; he cared about the eyes on him, the way it felt like being pinned down, as if every whisper pried into places he would rather keep locked.
His gaze drifted sideways and caught the faint stiffness in Aizawa’s posture — the way the man’s shoulders tensed, his eyes sweeping the hallway like he expected trouble.
Dazai let out another sigh and looked ahead again.
As they passed another cluster of students whispering too loudly, he heard Chuuya mutter low under his breath, voice full of quiet venom:
“I’m going to kill her.”
Dazai didn’t look at him.
“No.”
Chuuya turned his head, giving him a sharp, almost bewildered look.
“Why the hell not?”
“She’s still useful,” Dazai said, tone calm, eyes fixed on the end of the hallway. “We still need her to lead us closer to Shigaraki.”
He could feel Chuuya’s glare on him.
Before Chuuya could bite back a response, Dazai added, a little softer,
“And I’m not going to see her alone. Not anymore. You don’t have to worry about that.”
Chuuya made a short, sharp sound — a half-click of his tongue — and looked away, still simmering.
“The second we’re done with this mess,” he muttered under his breath, “I’ll make sure she regrets it.”
Dazai hummed as if he hadn’t heard.
By the time they reached the classroom, he could hear voices from inside.
Bits of conversation floated out into the hall — talk of the Hero Killer incident, strategies, gossip.
Aizawa slowed his steps as they reached the door, gave the two boys a look that said behave, and then turned to leave for the staffroom.
The moment Dazai and Chuuya stepped inside, the air shifted.
Every pair of eyes in the room turned to them.
For a heartbeat, Dazai braced himself for disgust — for the coldness, for the unspoken accusation.
But instead he found faces filled with concern.
Not suspicion. Not hatred.
Worry.
Izuku was the first to speak, voice a little tight but steady.
“Dazai… we believe you. Nobody with sense would believe what Asami’s saying.”
Beside him, Chuuya crossed his arms, looking like a coiled spring.
“That girl should be in prison,” he said bluntly.
Then, lower — so only Dazai caught it — he added, “She should burn for this.”
Ochako nodded right away, leaning forward a bit.
“Yeah! Don’t let it get to you. We know u wouldnt do it!.”
Mina grinned, though her eyes were serious.
“Seriously, don’t sweat it. She’s just stirring up drama.”
Denki chimed in with his usual, slightly awkward energy.
“Yeah, if anyone messes with you about it, we’ve got your back. No way we’d let a teammate get dragged down by lies.”
Sero added from his desk, tone calm but supportive.
“Focus on training. Let the teachers handle the rest.”
Their words piled up — small, earnest reassurances.
Dazai smiled faintly, tilting his head as if amused, but a corner of his chest eased.
Another student in the back added with a determined look,
“If anyone tries to start something, we’ll stand in front of you. Or behind you. Whatever’s needed.”
Dazai thought to himself how reckless — how stupid — that offer was.
Yet, in a strange, quiet way, it warmed something small in his chest.
“Let’s focus on class instead of rumours,” he said lightly, glancing around at their classmates.
The rest of the class nodded quickly.
A few minutes later, after a brief word from all might, the class lined up and headed out together toward the larger training grounds.
The hallway buzzed with footsteps and low chatter, the morning sunlight catching in the windows as they went.
All Might’s voice boomed across the courtyard, echoing off the tall walls of the new training facility.
“Young heroes! Welcome to the Hero Lore and Rescue Simulation Building! Today, you’ll not only learn about history—but also how to apply your instincts in real-life rescue situations!”
The class straightened automatically at the sound of his enthusiasm.
Izuku, already clutching his notebook, raised a trembling hand. “A-All Might, sir—why aren’t we using the USJ for this training? Isn’t that what it was built for?”
All Might laughed, planting his hands on his hips.
“Good question, young Midoriya! The USJ is better suited for disaster simulations. This time, we’ll be studying rescue ethics, historical case studies, and practicing in scenarios inspired by real missions! Ground Beta has the perfect terrain for it.”
The class murmured in excitement, Mina and Kaminari high-fiving each other, while Bakugou just clicked his tongue like he already knew it all.
“All right!” All Might clapped his massive hands together. “Inside, everyone! Let’s make this a day of heroic learning!”
The students began filing in, chatter filling the space.
Dazai walked quietly beside Chuuya, his expression unreadable but calm. The buzz of excitement wasn’t something he joined in on—but Chuuya could tell he was more alert than usual, his gaze flicking to every corner like he was mapping the building in his head.
Then suddenly—
“Dazai!”
He almost yelped when someone grabbed his wrist. He blinked rapidly, turning to see Uraraka grinning at him like she’d caught a rare bird.
Chuuya, a few steps ahead, froze and looked back, eyes narrowing. His gaze flicked from Uraraka’s hand on Dazai’s wrist to Dazai’s confused face.
Uraraka beamed. “Hey, can we talk alone for a sec?”
Dazai gave Chuuya a quick look—a silent please don’t make this a scene kind of look—and then nodded, a touch of hesitation in his voice. “Sure…?”
Chuuya clicked his tongue in irritation, shoving his hands in his pockets as he turned back around.
“Fine,” he muttered, stalking off toward the entrance with the others.
Once Chuuya disappeared inside, Uraraka started walking slowly down the hall, a mischievous glint in her eye. Dazai followed, wary.
“So,” he said, sighing, “what’s this about, Miss Gravity?”
She giggled. “You didn’t do my dare last time.”
Dazai blinked. “...The hat rack literally didnt cooperate with me. That wasn’t my fault.”
Uraraka held up a finger like a teacher giving a lesson. “Rules are rules, Dazai.”
He groaned, rubbing his temples. “You can’t possibly still be keeping score of that stupid game—”
“Oh, I am.” Her grin widened. “So here’s your new dare: you have to compliment Chuuya. And, hmm… let’s say… lean into him sometimes. Just a little. For atleast 2 days.”
Dazai stared at her, mouth open slightly, as his ears turned pink. “...Come again?”
She chuckled. “You heard me. You two are so tense around each other sometimes, not always but somethimes—maybe this’ll help!”
Dazai let out a long, suffering exhale and muttered, “I should’ve jumped off that bridge when I had the chance…”
Uraraka poked his arm playfully. “C’mon! It’ll be cute!”
“Cute,” Dazai echoed dryly, crossing his arms. “You mean humiliating.”
“Same thing.” She winked.
He groaned again, turning his head away from her teasing grin. When he finally glanced forward—he froze.
Chuuya was looking back at him from the doorway, his head turned just enough for their eyes to meet. For a heartbeat, they just stared at each other—then Chuuya quickly looked away, pretending to focus on All Might.
Dazai sighed, running a hand through his hair. “...I’m going to regret this,” he muttered under his breath.
Behind him, Uraraka just hummed smugly. “Oh, you definitely will.”
And Dazai cursed himself again for ever agreeing to that truth-or-dare night.
“Is that all?” Dazai asked flatly, staring at Uraraka with one raised brow.
She nodded way too enthusiastically. “That’s all! Easy, right?”
“Sure,” he muttered. “If public humiliation counts as ‘easy.’”
Uraraka giggled, clearly enjoying herself far too much. Dazai just sighed in defeat.
They entered the training area—a massive arena with a circular field, slanted platforms, and metallic towers for movement. The air smelled faintly of oil and dust. All Might stood proudly in the center, his voice echoing as he gestured to the wide space.
“All right, my students!” he boomed. “For today’s exercise, we’ll be dividing into four groups of five! Each group will begin from a different angle of the arena. I’ll stand here in the middle—representing a civilian in danger! The goal: reach me first! Whoever gets to me wins the round and ‘saves’ the victim!”
The class began buzzing immediately.
“The first group!” All Might called, holding up a paper. “Midoriya! Hunter! Koji! Mashirao! Mina!”
Izuku froze for half a second, then nodded firmly, determination already shining in his eyes. Mina cheered, spinning on her heel with excitement, while Hunter cracked his neck, ready to show off.
Behind them, whispers began.
“Kirishima’s betting on Hunter,” Kaminari grinned, nudging Bakugou.
“Tch,” Bakugou scoffed, arms crossed. “Like hell Deku’s gonna win.”
Momo tilted her head, thoughtful. “Hunter does have an advantage with range, though.”
“I say Mashirao!” Denki threw in. “That tail balance is crazy!”
Dazai barely listened to them. He was standing beside Chuuya, his hands tucked into his pockets, eyes half-lidded as he glanced toward the starting platforms.
Chuuya stood casually next to him, one hand on his hip, looking perfectly focused. The screen above flickered with the names of the competitors, waiting for All Might’s signal.
Dazai could still feel Uraraka’s stare burning into his side. He turned his head slightly and—yep, there she was, watching him with that mischievous grin and a tiny nod like now.
He blinked a few times, expression deadpan. Then looked forward again, sighing under his breath.
If I don’t do this, she’ll come up with something even worse. And I’m too tired to deal with that.
So… fine.
He shifted just slightly—close enough that his sleeve brushed against Chuuya’s. A moment later, he leaned a little more, their arms fully touching now. Warm. Steady.
Then, casually, his hand drifted until the side of his palm brushed Chuuya’s.
The reaction was instant.
He could feel Chuuya’s entire body go tense beside him, like a string pulled too tight. His fingers twitched once—but he didn’t move away. He didn’t even look at Dazai.
Dazai kept his eyes glued to the screen, pretending nothing happened, even though his heartbeat picked up against his will.
He’s not pulling away no even better worse, chuuyas hand reaches to touch dazais hand again softly.
He gulped and could feel his ears heat.
Then All Might’s voice boomed again. “Ready… set… GO!”
The buzzer blared, and the five students shot into action. Izuku leapt forward with explosive speed, his movements cleaner than ever—no broken bones, no flinches. Controlled power radiated through each jump.
“Whoa!” Mina shouted mid-run. “He’s not even flinching this time!”
Even Dazai couldn’t help the faint, impressed smile that tugged at his lips. Izuku had improved—not much power, but incredible control. He was learning.
Hunter wasn’t far behind, swinging with precise momentum across the metallic beams. Mina followed close, her acid boosting her jumps. For a moment, it looked like Izuku might win—until his foot slipped on a slick rod.
He stumbled, arms flailing, and the crowd gasped.
Hunter used the moment, shooting his line forward, hooking onto a tower, and soaring over Izuku to land perfectly in the center.
“All Might has been saved!” All Might announced dramatically, pointing toward Hunter, who landed with a grin and a salute.
The class went quiet for a beat—then Kirishima burst out laughing. “YEAH! I knew my guy had it!”
“Lucky,” Bakugou muttered, clicking his tongue again.
Dazai smiled faintly, still not moving away from Chuuya. He could feel the slight tremor of tension still under his skin—but Chuuya stayed right there, pretending not to notice their hands brushing now and then.
And Uraraka, a few steps away, was trying very hard not to laugh out loud.
“All right! The next group!” All Might’s voice boomed across the arena. “Dazai! Iida! Bakugou! Uraraka! Jirou!”
Dazai sighed before the words even finished echoing. Perfect.
He stuffed his hands into his pockets and started walking lazily toward his starting point, his steps unhurried and heavy with the kind of fatigue that sank too deep for sleep to fix. He already knew how this would go—his ability was useless in a race like this, and frankly, he was still too drained from the internship and… everything that happened after.
A shiver ran down his spine, uninvited and cold. The memory flickered in his mind—blood, screams, a certain voice—and he quickly shook his head, forcing his grin back in place.
When he reached his starting point, the camera drone turned toward him, red light blinking as it zoomed in. Dazai looked straight into the lens, tilted his head, and gave a lazy wink followed by a sly grin.
Even if it’s only Class A watching… Odasaku always said: once a performer, always a performer.
“All right!” All Might called out. “BEGIN!”
Everyone blasted off at once—except Dazai.
Iida shot forward in a blur, engines roaring. Bakugou exploded into the air with a deafening BOOM, yelling something about how he’d crush everyone. Uraraka floated off the ground, making herself weightless, while Jirou used her jacks to propel herself across obstacles.
And Dazai?
He just… walked.
Hands in his pockets, expression mild, he started strolling across the field—away from the center.
By the time Bakugou reached All Might and declared victory with another explosion, Dazai hadn’t even reached the halfway mark.
From the sidelines, he heard Kirishima shout, “Wait—Dazai didn’t even try!”
Denki followed. “Bro didn’t move faster than a snail!”
Dazai finally reached the group again, shrugging as he stepped beside them. “It has no use,” he said simply, tone dry. “My ability doesn’t fit these kiddie games.”
Chuuya snorted from behind him, crossing his arms. “Knew it. You never do anything unless it benefits you.”
Dazai turned, sticking out his tongue at him playfully. “Oh, don’t act like you’re surprised, Chibi.”
“All right, next round!” All Might interrupted, smiling despite the chaos. “Chuuya! Yaoyorozu! Denki! Kirishima! Tsuyu!”
Chuuya cracked his neck, then brushed past Dazai, bumping his shoulder as he walked. “Watch and learn, loser,” he muttered.
Dazai raised a hand lazily. “I want you to win, you know,” he called after him.
Chuuya only waved his hand without looking back—but then, halfway across the field, he did glance over his shoulder with a small, confident grin.
Dazai’s heart stuttered. Then dropped. Then—great—something else reacted too. Fucking hell he cant have a boner here.
He sighed internally. That stupid slug.
When the next group took their places, the students from the previous round began to return. Iida was wiping sweat from his brow, still stiff but proud. Bakugou looked completely unfazed, arms crossed.
Uraraka glanced around. “Wait—where’s Dazai?” uraraka finally noticed.
“Here.” Dazai raised a lazy hand. “Didn’t do shit. Walked back.”
She groaned. “Seriously?”
He just smiled, leaning slightly against the railing.
“All right, let’s begin!” All Might’s voice thundered again.
The buzzer sounded—
—and Chuuya moved.
He launched forward, faster than the eye could follow, like a streak of red lightning tearing through the air. His coat whipped behind him, and the entire arena seemed to tremble as the ground cracked under his feet.
The crowd gasped.
Even Dazai’s eyes widened—not out of surprise, but awe. He’d seen Chuuya move like this before, sure… but every time, it was breathtaking. That precise balance of speed and raw power—it was something no one else could mimic.
All Might blinked as Chuuya reached him in barely two seconds flat, stopping just shy of collision with a smirk that could kill.
“Well, that was fast!” All Might exclaimed, half-laughing, half-bewildered.
Chuuya tilted his hat slightly, his grin pure mischief.
And Dazai, watching from the sidelines, couldn’t help but chuckle softly—low and amused.
Yeah. It’s always fascinating.
Chuuya came back to the group with that grin of his — the one that said yeah, I’m damn good, and I know it. The class erupted around him, voices overlapping with cheers and laughter. Kirishima practically jumped in excitement, yelling something about how “that was manly as hell!” while Denki just stood there slack-jawed, repeating, “Bro, did you even blink?!”
Mina clapped him on the back, Momo smiled, and even Iida gave him a respectful nod. Chuuya, for once, didn’t brush it off. He was basking in it, shoulders loose, head tilted high, that rare, genuine light in his eyes.
Dazai stayed a few steps behind the cluster, arms folded, letting the noise roll over him.
He sighed softly, watching Chuuya laugh and gesture animatedly as if this were the most normal thing in the world. Normally, the redhead’s cocky confidence would have made Dazai tease him immediately — a little jab to cut through that ego — but not this time.
Because he knew.
Chuuya had never really gotten this kind of attention before — not the good kind, anyway. Not admiration. Not warmth. His whole life had been filled with cold stares, clinical observations, charts, wires, commands. He’d lived as an experiment, a weapon, something people used and feared.
And now, here he was, shining.
Dazai’s lips twitched upward. It was annoying, sure, watching him soak up the praise like a smug cat in the sun — but it was also… cute. He deserved it. After all those years in the dark, he deserved every damn cheer.
He’ll never go through that again, Dazai thought, gaze softening for a split second. Not if I can help it. Not from UA. Not from anyone.
He sighed again and turned his eyes away just as Bakugou nearly lunged toward the cheering crowd, fury etched on his face, only for Midoriya to grab him by the arm.
“Let go, Deku! I’m gonna blast that smug redhead into the floor!”
Midoriya stammered something about “team spirit” and “friendly competition,” which only earned more yelling. Dazai chuckled quietly. Ah… so Bakugou’s mad someone’s faster than him. Cute.
He exhaled slowly, shoulders relaxing — just for a moment — and that’s when he felt it.
A hand on his shoulder.
His body froze instantly. The air caught in his throat, every nerve on alert as his instincts screamed threat. He spun around, hand already halfway raised—
—and stopped when he saw who it was.
“Aizawa,” Dazai breathed out, forcing a smile as his racing pulse steadied. “You really shouldn’t sneak up on people like that. Especially not on people with quick reflexes and poor impulse control.”
Aizawa blinked, unimpressed. “Can we talk?”
Dazai’s smile twitched. Oh no. Not this again.
He knew exactly where this was heading — and he really, really didn’t want to go there. Aizawa wasn’t his father, nor his guardian, and he had no right to pry into the secrets Dazai kept locked behind his smirk.
Mori was right about one thing — Aizawa was getting too close. And so was Chuuya. Both of them made him drop his guard, made him feel things he shouldn’t.
“Now, now,” Dazai said lightly, waving a hand. “I’m in class, remember? You can’t just drag me off like some misbehaving student.”
“I already talked to All Might,” Aizawa replied evenly. “You’re excused once your exercise ends.”
Dazai blinked. “You planned this?”
Aizawa gave the faintest sigh. “You’re making it sound like an ambush.”
“Well…” Dazai stretched the word out, lips curling faintly. “Isn’t it?”
Aizawa didn’t answer, just gave him that look — the one that was quiet but unyielding. The kind of look that told Dazai he’d already lost this argument.
He growled softly under his breath and nodded. “Fine. But I’m billing you for emotional distress later.”
“Noted.”
They walked off together, taking a side path away from the arena and back toward UA. The hallways were empty — no students, no chatter, just the echo of their footsteps. When they entered a smaller room near the back of the building, Dazai immediately frowned.
No windows. Bare walls. Only one door.
His fingers twitched.
Before Aizawa could even speak, Dazai reached forward, grabbing the man’s wrist — his touch deliberate, testing. Nothing happened. No reaction, no ability erased. Just Aizawa, calm as ever, watching him with quiet curiosity.
Dazai exhaled slowly and released his grip, forcing a grin. “You walk too fast, Sensei. I have shorter legs, you know. It’s cruel.”
Aizawa’s brow twitched, but he ignored the jab and finally faced him fully.
“Dazai,” he began. “Will you consider therapy? The school can cover the cost if it’s about money.”
For the first time, Dazai’s grin faltered.
“Therapy?” he repeated, tone flat. Then he laughed — too light, too sharp. “Ah, that’s cute. Really. But I already have therapy in Yokohama, so no need.”
Aizawa hummed, unconvinced.
Dazai waved a hand lazily. “You brought me to a creepy little room just to talk about that? You’re making it sound like an interrogation. Should I expect a lamp in my face next?”
“This isn’t a joke.”
Something in Aizawa’s voice made Dazai tense — a subtle edge, calm but firm. The humor on his lips faltered, and an unease crawled under his skin. He didn’t know why — he knew Aizawa wouldn’t hurt him — but something in the silence, the confinement, made him shiver.
Aizawa stepped closer, his gaze steady. “It’s about Asami. And the incident.”
Dazai’s smile returned instantly, stretched too wide, too practiced. “Ah, that. I figured.”
“It’s not something to dismiss,” Aizawa continued, voice low but insistent. “There’s misinformation spreading, and—”
“I don’t care about it,” Dazai interrupted, waving a hand like he was swatting a fly. “I’ll handle it. It’s nothing new.”
Aizawa frowned, frustration flickering in his tired eyes. Then, for the first time, his tone softened—almost gentle.
“Osamu.”
The name hit like a jolt of electricity.
Dazai froze. His entire posture straightened instantly, his heart skipping a beat. Osamu. No one should call him that.
Aizawa saw it — the subtle shift, the crack in Dazai’s mask — and continued quietly.
“This isn’t your fault,” he said. “It’s the school’s. We have proof. The footage clearly shows that she was there when no one was — when she entered your room. At teh time when you couldn’t move.”
The words sliced through Dazai’s calm like glass.
His smirk vanished completely.
Then he stepped back — sharp, defensive — his voice low and brittle.
“…You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Dazai’s fingers twitched against his sleeve, that restless, jittery movement betraying what his face refused to show. The room felt too small. The air pressed too thickly against his chest. He wanted to move, to leave, to be anywhere but here.
Aizawa must’ve seen it—the tightness in Dazai’s shoulders, the faint tremor in his fingers—because he took a slow step back, his tone softening.
“This is a heavy topic,” he said, eyes steady but voice careful, as though afraid one wrong word might make Dazai bolt. “And I’ve never had a case like this in all my years teaching or doing hero work.”
Dazai looked up at him then, his grin smaller than usual—closer to a tired smile than a mask.
“Well,” he murmured, “you can add it to your résumé now. Congratulations, Sensei.”
Aizawa didn’t react to the joke. His gaze stayed steady.
“Your father and Principal Nezu should be informed,” he said quietly. “So we can have Asami removed from the school—or arrested, depending on what the investigation shows.”
Dazai shook his head before he’d even finished.
“The rumors won’t get better,” he muttered. “They’ll just find new ones to replace it with. I don’t need their pity.”
He didn’t want the pity. He didn’t want the looks. The whispered poor Dazai behind half-covered mouths. The softness that followed every tragedy. He didn’t need it. He didn’t want anyone looking at him like that again.
Aizawa tilted his head slightly. “Then maybe another family member—”
“I have a father,” Dazai cut in quickly, “and a sister. That’s it.”
There was a pause. Aizawa’s eyes softened in a way Dazai couldn’t stand—quiet pity, quiet understanding. Dazai inhaled sharply and crossed his arms, forcing the grin back into place.
“This is unnecessary, Sensei. I’m fine.”
Aizawa didn’t let him hide behind it this time.
“Dazai,” he said evenly, “drop the act. The smug student routine. You don’t have to pretend with me.”
Dazai’s smile faltered. “Pretend? I’m not—”
“I know Mori isn’t your father.”
The words hit like a blade drawn too close to the skin.
For a moment, Dazai just stared—his brain a jumble of static. How could he know? There was no record of that. No one in UA should have that kind of access. Unless…
A stalker. Someone digging. Someone watching. Someone tracing pieces of his life back to Yokohama. His mind raced, every nerve screaming. If Mori finds out someone’s prying, if he thinks Dazai slipped—
“Are you okay?” Aizawa’s voice cut through the spiral like a snap of wire.
Dazai blinked hard, forcing air into his lungs again, then nodded with a weak chuckle. “How would you even know that?”
Aizawa sighed. “It wasn’t hard to tell. And your reaction just confirmed it.”
The grin slid back onto Dazai’s face, brittle but smooth. “You really are sharp, Sensei. Fine—Mori isn’t my biological father. My parents died in a fire. He found me on the street and took me in.”
Not a lie. Just not the whole truth.
Aizawa watched him quietly, probably searching for cracks. He wouldn’t find any; Dazai was good at this. Too good.
Finally, Aizawa exhaled and said, “Whatever environment you’re in, if it’s not safe—or if something’s wrong—you can talk to me. And about Asami—”
Dazai frowned, cutting him off sharply. “If this is about whether her touches were ‘satisfying’ or not, I’m not interested in sharing.” he joked, or tried.
Aizawa’s expression pinched; he rubbed the bridge of his nose, muttering, “I’m trying to talk about how you feel. How you felt. I want to help, Dazai.”
“I don’t need help,” Dazai said too quickly.
The next thing he knew, his back hit the wall—he hadn’t even realized he’d stepped away. His chest rose and fell faster now, his eyes sharp. “Don’t push this too much.”
Aizawa’s gaze lingered for a long second, then he nodded slowly. " I won’t force you. But my door’s open. Anytime.”
Dazai swallowed hard. He needed to get out. Now.
He pasted on a lazy grin, half-bowed. “Appreciate the offer, Sensei. I’ll come by for therapy and tea sometime, yeah?”
And before Aizawa could respond, Dazai slipped out the door.
The second it shut behind him, he breathed. His lungs burned with the release—he hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath the entire time.
Hell.
He started walking fast—too fast—down the hall, ignoring the sting in his chest and the way people in the corridor whispered, threw looks, even muttered insults under their breath. Someone tossed a crumpled paper at him. Another muttered Asami’s name with venom.
Dazai didn’t stop. Didn’t react. Didn’t care.
He just wanted to get back to class. Back to familiar noise.
He reached the door, hand on the handle—
—and his phone buzzed.
Incoming call: Unknown Number.
He stared at it for a second, his gut twisting. Then the phone buzzed again, persistent.
He hesitated, thumb hovering over the screen.
Dazai hesitated for one last moment, thumb hovering above the glowing screen. The noise of students in the hall blurred into static around him—laughs, chatter, footsteps—and yet everything felt eerily distant.
He exhaled through his nose and swiped accept.
“...Hello?”
There was no answer. Only a faint hiss of static, the kind of distortion that crawled up the spine and made the silence heavier than words.
Then—
“...Shuuji.”
The name dropped into his ear like a stone into deep water.
Dazai froze. The phone slipped slightly in his grasp. That name—
The voice was warped, metallic, filtered through a cheap voice changer that twisted vowels and flattened tone. Male? Female? Impossible to tell. The sound made his skin crawl.
“Who’s this?” Dazai’s voice came out quieter than intended, thin and tight.
No response. Just breathing. He thought he could hear a faint click, like someone adjusting the device.
“Who’s talking?” he repeated, sharper now, though the unease bled through.
Silence stretched—five seconds, ten—so long that he almost thought the call had cut off.
Then the voice came again.
“I was the one who shot you,” it said, almost calm, too calm, “and missed purposely....Come and find me."